


Braces

by gimmefire



Category: Strictly Come Dancing RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-12-03 14:28:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gimmefire/pseuds/gimmefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James wore braces during the SCD 2012 final, and Brendan couldn't keep away from them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Braces

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mackem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackem/gifts).



> Quick 'n' dirty ficlet for [mackem](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mackem), because she said it was my turn and sometimes I do as I'm told.

James makes a high-pitched noise and shrinks away when Brendan pings one of his braces squarely against his nipple for the gazillionth time that evening.  
  
"You could at least _try_ and sound manly," Brendan snorts. "What kind of noise was that?"  
  
"Mate, stop, they're gonna be red raw soon," James complains amidst pained laughter, pulling the brace and shirt fabric away from his increasingly sore nipple.  
  
"I'm pretty sure I've done worse to them," Brendan says with a winning smile, biting his bottom lip as he slaps James' hand away so he ends up pinging it himself. It's even more enjoyable than doing it himself, he decides, as James cries out quite pathetically and clutches his chest. He also decides that James should wear braces all the time. And shirts that show off his shoulders, however questionable that might be regarding fashion. And warmth.  
  
James shields himself, turning his back on his antagonist. "You're a horrible person, but I already knew that from your horrible dancing. _No--!_ " The power of his insult falters with that closing exclamation, made because Brendan has hold of both of his braces and has stretched them far, far away from his back. James arches and tenses, steeling himself for the sting, but it doesn't come.  
  
"See mate, if you keep moving away, my fingers might slip..." Brendan teases, letting his fingers do just that until only the ends his forefingers separate James from yet more pain. James, sensibly, keeps still.  
  
"Back up towards me, then..." Brendan says in his most persuasive voice. James seems to consider the potential pros and cons, glances behind him, then obeys. He moves backwards into Brendan's hands, the pressure against his shoulder muscles easing. "Theeeere we go," Brendan purrs, sliding his fingers down the elasticated strips, knuckles grazing the curve of James' back, gently releasing the braces to allow his hands to follow muscles and flesh and warmth to James' hips, his waist, stomach...  
  
"So this was just an excuse to feel me up?" James murmurs, not sounding particularly peeved about it.  
  
Brendan hums like he's actually giving it some thought as his hands slowly explore, and he lifts his chin to rest it on James' shoulder. His hands slip behind the braces again, fingertips circling tender nipples. "Maybe," he eventually concedes, thumbing the hardening nubs.  
  
When Brendan suddenly switches from thumbing to pinching and rounds off with yet another stinging double brace snap, the shout James gives can be heard two rooms away.  
  
"That's it. _That's it!_ "  
  
The two of them go thundering through the corridors with Ola shouting after them to be careful, leaving assistants and runners shrinking against the walls to keep out of the way. When Brendan trips over the leg of a clothes rail and is forced to lengthen his stride to comical levels to keep from going head over heels, James manages to reach out and catch him, one muscular arm looping around his chest and dragging him off his feet. Chasing becomes wrestling until James gets his antagonist in a headlock and pulls him into a side room, kicking the door closed behind them.  
  
  
"You have to stay there until you say sorry," James admonishes with a grin a little later, hands on his hips.  
  
"You'll never make me talk, copper," Brendan retorts in a strained voice. James is sat squarely and solidly and heavily on his chest, and it makes talking and breathing quite difficult. As does the distraction of his body heat, spread thighs and what was wrapped in tight trousers _right_ in his eyeline.  
  
"You know you could get out of that quite easily," James says matter-of-factly, in a way that makes it sound like a criticism rather than a compliment.  
  
"Maybe I don't want to," Brendan responds archly. As his face grows more and more red, however, he has a rethink, and declares with a wheeze, "You are bloody heavy, though."  
  
"Oh, that's not nice," James says, doing a good job of feigning hurt while pressing himself down harder on Brendan's chest.  
  
" _Jesus, mate, you're gonna crack my ribs--!_ "  
  
James only relents at the sound of a genuine thread of alarm in Brendan's voice. Leaning forward onto his hands, he scoots backwards and sits back down unnecessarily heavily, this time high up on Brendan's thighs.  
  
Brendan makes a show of rubbing his chest and grimacing, glancing down at James' new position. "Any higher up and I'd be no use to anyone, least of all you. Or you'd be getting my lunch back..."  
  
"Such a baby," James murmurs, and when Brendan is about to answer back, he leans forward again, rising onto his knees and resting his hand over Brendan's throat, long fingers spread over soft flesh. Gently, he presses his thumb against Brendan's chin, encouraging him to tilt his head back.  
  
James traces his jawline with his thumb and fingertips, the flesh under his chin, encircles the pulse points with finger and thumb, hand slipping slowly and calmly down until for a moment that's not too fleeting, James has him by the throat. There is no tight grip or squeeze or sudden flex of forearm, no rush of adrenaline and endorphins; but the hand is there and that grip, that squeeze could be a heartbeat away.  
  
Brendan, caught in James' heated gaze, tips his head back a little more, and James' smirk grows a little more.  
  
James brings his hand down, fingertips brushing the hollow of Brendan's throat, the skin that's peeking out above his first button. The fingers go to work on that button, and the next, flicking them open...  
  
Brendan swallows and wets his lips, watching James' progress.  
  
"So this was just an excuse to feel me up...?" he murmurs, not sounding particularly peeved about it.  
  
James hums like he's actually giving it some thought as his hand curls into Brendan's shirt fabric, answering before he pulls him up into a bruising kiss. "Maybe."


End file.
